


That Was Then, This Is Dumb

by GoodMourningCoffee



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Gen, Slice of Life, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodMourningCoffee/pseuds/GoodMourningCoffee
Summary: Jake and Helen Morgendorffer’s marriage is falling apart. The family is a shell of the fragile stability it once had. In the days after Quinn graduates high school and Daria comes home from her first year of college, it’s up to the sisters to pick up the pieces while dealing with their own problems. This wasn’t the summer break Daria and Quinn had in mind. Crossposted to FanFiction.net.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. It Happened One Nut

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Generally, I try and write an entire story before I consider posting it, even if I don't post it all at once. With this story, I am making an exception to that rule. I have a general idea of what will happen in later chapters, but my outline is pretty barren. I don't see this story being longer than eight or so chapters. It'll be displayed as complete, when it is complete. I have long wanted to write a Daria story, I just didn't think I would be taking it on so soon. I'm worried that Daria and Jane are not true to their characters and I'm somewhat worried about how in character they are, especially Jane. That being said, this is a story where the characters are the worst possible versions of themselves. Well, Helen and Jake are the worst versions of themselves, and it's been done intentionally.
> 
> This story is meant to take place of the period of a few days or week. It is not happy, not fuzzy, and it very much intended to be a short slice of life work. The ending will tie up the story, but things may be left a little open. I'm not trying for a beautiful or satisfying conclusion with this one.
> 
> Due to self-isolation and the Coronavirus outbreak, I've had some extra time and I wanted to use it write. I decided I was going to take on a story I wasn't sure I am a strong enough writer for and to challenge myself creatively. I hope you enjoy this story and I am always, always open to reviews, critiques, and constructive criticism.
> 
> All that being said, I want to provide a few trigger warnings, not all are contained in this one chapter, but are included in the story: spousal neglect, cheating/inferences to cheating, discussions of abortion, alcohol abuse, prescription drug abuse as mistaken for a suicide attempt, strained marriages, verbal fighting/family arguments, discussions of female/female bullying and false accusation/slut shaming.
> 
> If more categories for trigger warnings come up throughout the story, I will include them in author's notes in the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> One more note, depending on how closely tied to your favorite ships you are, this story is Joey/Quinn and while Daria has no romantic interest as a plot to the story there are Trent/Daria elements and Tom/Daria elements included in the story.

Chapter 1: "It Happened One Nut":

Daria woke up, head pounding and foul taste in her mouth. She needed a toothbrush and a shower. She needed a strong cup of coffee and something to chase away the headache. But first, she needed to find her underwear, lace up her boots, and get out of the messiest, mustiest room in the Lane household.

Trent was turned over on his side, face shoved into a pillow. His snoring could probably be heard through the whole house.

Daria rocked herself forward slowly. The pain in her head and nausea hitting her like a brick wall. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, taking a few deep breaths and hoping she was sober enough to not fall over. She probed around the floor, trying to grab up her clothes. She threw discarded shirts, jeans, and boxers to the side. The world around her was blurry.

She found her jacket and shrugged it on. A discarded condom from the night before was in plain view, lying underneath the garment she'd just zipped up. She wrinkled her nose at the blurry sight. No question, she was doing laundry when she got home. Right after a shower and a long nap.

She cobbled together her pants, underwear, boots, and glasses. She donned them accordingly, and glanced over at Trent, who'd stopped snoring, but was still asleep against morning light hardly shining into the room through the black out curtains.

She opened the door and slunk down the hallway. She didn't have her t-shirt or a bra and she'd decided as she left the room, that they would be gone forever, in the disgusting abyss that was Trent Lane's room. Or Jane would bring them to her at some point after bouts and bouts of teasing and admonishment. If Jane herself could even find Daria's clothing in the garment tornado.

As Daria slinked down the steps, she glanced into Jane's room. The door was wide open. Art supplies, canvases, and mass chaos surrounded the perfectly made bed. Jane's flight hadn't come in yet. Daria knew that. She knew Jane wouldn't be home from Boston until early afternoon. So, why was she hoping to see her friend in her most hopeless and embarassing of situations?

Daria quietly exited the Lane household and started down the block toward her parents' place. Her head was still foggy, but at least with her glasses on the world didn't feel like a blurry, spiraling mess. Her head hurt less with her vision rectified.

_It's really the little things, isn't it._

Daria opened the front door with no intention of remaining silent. Quinn was still out from the night before, no doubt partying and enjoying the general liberation that high school graduation brought. Jake was passed out on the couch, sitting upright with yesterday's newspaper draped over his chest like a blanket. A martini glass sitting on the coffee table, toothpick sadly sticking out of it. Daria slammed the front door. Partially out of anger, partially as an experiment. Jake didn't jump or stir from his spot on the couch.

She crossed the living room and made her way into the kitchen to begin the daunting task of starting a pot of coffee. There was a note on the glass carafe. Fast, cursive letters in Helen's handwriting telling her family she wouldn't be home for dinner. Whoever was closest to the kitchen during dinner time could pop a tray of frozen lasagna in the oven. Helen's note asked for them to save her a plate.

_Helen Morgendorffer: homemaker, lawyer, continued disappointment,_ Daria deadpanned to herself.

Daria found some headache medicine, guzzled down a too hot cup of coffee, and made her stumbly, nauseous way to the upstairs bathroom. She turned on the shower hot enough to be uncomfortable and stepped in, forgetting to take her glasses off in the process. She left them on, even when the steam began to fog up the lenses. She wasn't paying that much attention to her surroundings, only the fact the shower was easing the tension in her head. It wasn't easing the feeling of the hangover, the utter numbness of her less than intelligent decision to wake up next to Trent Lane, or how shitty it might actually be to finally be home for the summer after her first year at Raft had come to a close.

There was hostility, pure and with no room for love, in the Morgendorffer household. There was an undercurrent of resentment. She felt it when her dad and Quinn had come to pick her up at the Am-Track station. The bitterness progressed with each phone call through the school year and Daria did her best to ignore it at first, hoping it would peter out.

By the time she was a week away from coming home, it was full force. Jake and Helen were openly fighting with each other, Quinn dutifully reported, week after week. When her parents called they had been on speakerphone, but at the volume they were talking, they certainly didn't need to be. At least, that was during a handful of phone calls at the beginning her first semester, when Helen and Jake still made phone calls together. Back when Helen could be bothered to come home.

Quinn had called her in the middle of the night once during the second semester. She was hysterical and almost inconsolable. She couldn't take Mom and Dad's fighting, she said. They woke her up in the middle of the night with all the yelling downstairs, she said. She wanted to come to Boston for a few days and stay with Daria so she wouldn't have to be near Jake and Helen, she said.

It took Daria almost an hour to talk Quinn down and tell her she was being dramatic. For Daria to tell Quinn, that she could most certainly not come to Boston for a few days because Quinn had school and work, and there was no room in Daria's dorm to even entertain the idea of letting her sister stay.

Quinn had said she was going to go over to Stacy's and stay the rest of the weekend. Daria told her it sounded like a good plan.

Quinn was as dramatic and obnoxious as possible about packing a bag and parading around the living room. She'd threatened going to Stacy's and she'd already made the decision to go through with it.

It has the opposite effect of what Quinn had been hoping for. Instead of her parents realizing their fighting was hurting her and driving her crazy, her parents turned against one another even harder, blaming the other Quinn's upset and fragile state.

Quinn closed the door on her parents and made the trek over to Stacy's. Her parents didn't notice their youngest had already left in the midst of their heated argument. Neither of them tried to call her once she'd gotten to Stacy's. Not to apologize, not to make sure she was okay.

Quinn wasn't surprised by this, but it still hurt.

She called Daria back when she got to Stacy's and sobbed to her sister about how jealous she was of her, how she got to be away from all of the drama. Daria let Quinn talk and didn't contradict her sister, but she couldn't help feeling pissed off. Why did Quinn think that being hundreds of miles away, but knowing her sister was in an emotional crisis and her parents' marriage was falling apart, was an advantage to the situation? What made Quinn think it was any easier on Daria?

When Quinn had gotten home after the impromptu, extended stay at Stacy's, Jake had drunk himself to sleep and was passed out upright on the couch. Helen had already left for work. Quinn knew Jake had been sleeping on the couch, waiting for Helen to get up and go to work so that he could intercept her at the door and apologize. Jake had been enacting this plan for months. It was an every night occurrence and he hadn't once been successful in its execution. He was always passed out asleep when Helen left for work in the early hours of the morning.

Helen didn't so much as glance at her sleeping husband anymore when she opened the front door. He was below her disdain now.

Helen, generally, couldn't be bothered with her family anymore. Daria heard from her father more than her mother, and it was alway a weepy Jake that called. Always a drunken, sad ramble. Something about how proud he was of Daria and her grades and accomplishments. Something about how proud of Quinn he was. But mostly he talked about how sad he was that Helen was slipping away from him and he couldn't change it, no matter how hard he tried.

Daria had learned more about her father than she'd ever felt she had needed to. Quinn had as well. She could hear Jake's lamenting through the house. It made her heart tighten and it made her cry more. Jake was so martini drunk on the occasions when he called his oldest, that he probably never realized he'd talked to her to begin with. He certainly didn't realize his youngest could hear every one-sided confession of agony he was confessing on the phone.

Helen only called Daria of her own volition when it was about Quinn's high school graduation. She's also called Daria one other time, by mistake. She was dialing the number of a client and dialed Daria's newly acquired cell phone number instead. Helen didn't read it as a subconscious act in relation to missing her daughter. She simply told her oldest child she couldn't talk right now and hung up promptly, as if Daria were the one that made the accidental phone call.

After Helen had summarily blown her off, Daria phoned Aunt Amy and told her as much as she knew. Amy told her that Helen could be intense sometimes. After all, both Amy and her niece had known Helen their whole lives and had observed her workaholic, uptight lifestyle with more scrutiny than most.

Amy also brought up Daria's cell phone and how she was the one who was paying for it. She was the one providing Daria with the link to her father, her sister, and herself. If Daria was so put off, she could relinquish the phone and Amy would send her some Dostoevsky novels, instead.

Daria was upfront with her aunt about her lack of appreciation for the cavalier-ness, when in all other contexts, Daria would have considered herself in good company. But this was Daria's family that was falling apart. Dismissal wasn't appreciated. Amy gave in and said she'd call Helen. Helen didn't answer. Amy dropped it.

Amy dropped it until Quinn called her later that week. Quinn was hysterical, upset, and not herself. Amy realized if her adorable, vapid niece was calling her in such a panicked state, the problem truly was as horrible as Daria had described it. Quinn called Rita, she never called Amy.

Amy got on a plane and came to Lawndale. She didn't feel the need to inform Helen beforehand, either.

Amy stayed for five days, sleeping in Daria's room while she was visiting. She spent the first two days trying to confront Helen, making it as difficult as possible for Helen to slink her way out of the situation. Helen, when she couldn't defend herself through words, ignored her sister's presence entirely. It was effective on her husband, why not use the tactic on her sister as well?

Amy hardly recognized her Helen. Helen was a different person. Amy told Helen all of this, and it ricocheted off of Helen and right back onto the rest of the Morgendorffer family.

Amy didn't know what to do, but wasn't about to admit to it.

The rest of Amy's short visit was spent staying up late with Quinn while she unloaded all her bottled up emotions. Amy wasn't used to dealing with the volatile emotions of anyone, let alone those of her distraught niece. Whatever she did, it seemed to work for a little while, though. Quinn was a little happier and after Amy left, she even called her a little more often  
"just to talk." Amy knew Quinn was calling because she was lonely and scared, but she couldn't begrudge the youngest Morgendorffer for it.

Quinn turned out to be the easy part. Jake was a whole other problem Amy couldn't begin to fix.

She sat up with Jake, the night before she left, as he unloaded every insecurity, every tale about his own mother and father, every tale about Corporal Ellenbogan, and every recent disappointment Helen wrought. How sad he was and how much, again, he felt the love of his life slipping away from him.

Amy listened as patiently as she could. She tried to get Jake to go to sleep in his own bed that night. He refused, like the man-child Helen often accused him of being. Amy eventually gave up and let him fall asleep on the couch.

Before Jake passed out, Amy told him his life was a mess and that he needed to look past the fact that he'd lost the job at the consulting firm on his principle of employing bad and dumb business decisions. Amy told him to shape up, to stop drinking, and maybe to take up a twelve-step program. Amy told him that he and her sister desperately needed to go to marriage counseling.

Jake's only response was that he needed to call Daria. Amy unplugged all the landlines and let Jake struggle in his inebriated state to figure out why the phone wasn't working. Jake flipped out like a toddler and eventually exhausted himself into sleep.

Amy got on a plane the next day without saying "good-bye" to Helen or Jake. Quinn drove her to the airport. It was Saturday and she would take any excuse she could to get out of the house. Amy hugged her younger niece before she got out of the car. She told Quinn that if things got worse, Quinn could come and see her for a few days, but only as a last resort. She told Quinn that she only had a few months left until graduation. That she was a tough girl, she could stick it out.

Quinn wasn't sure if Amy was being nice or if she meant all the good things she'd said. Quinn wasn't sure if she wanted to know, wasn't sure if she could handle one more false familial promise. It would only lead to more heartbreak.

* * *

Daria stepped out of the shower and wiped down her foggy glasses with her towel. A sharp knock came out the door. "Dar-ee-a, hurry up!" Quinn's shrill voice came from the other side of the closed door.

Daria didn't answer her sister. She continued to take her time getting out of the shower and getting dressed. Ignoring Quinn's constant banging on the door didn't do any favors for her aching head.

When she emerged, she walked past her younger, taller sister without a glance, "All yours."

"You don't have to be sarcastic about it," Quinn shot back as she slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Daria walked into her room and passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow, in spite of the recent cup of coffee.

* * *

Daria had originally planned to catch a plane back from Boston in the early afternoon, a few days after the semester had actually ended. She was going to come back with Jane, on the same flight, if it could be managed. They were going to get drunk on shitty wine the night before the flight. Wine supplied by Jane's older roommate.

Jane was going to finish her latest masterpiece and Daria was going to sort through all her query letters and decide what her writing projects were going to be released for public consumption that summer. The friends were going to crash in Jane's dorm, sleep in until an ungodly hour, then rush to the airport way behind schedule.

Instead, that plan was trashed by Helen before Daria even presented it to her mother. Helen had her assistant call and book a ticket from Boston to Lawndale via Am-Track. Daria was coming home a few days early, right after her last final. Daria was told she wasn't going to be missing Quinn's graduation. Helen told Daria that her assistant would call her when everything was booked. That she should wait by the fax machine in the dorm hall lobby for her tickets.

Quinn and Jake would pick her up at the station. Quinn said she was driving, because she didn't trust Jake would be sober enough to operate a car.

Quinn hugged her sister at the station when her train arrived, making a rare show of how happy she was to see her. Daria hugged her sister, but didn't offer much more enthusiasm. Jake hugged his daughter and gushed about how happy he was that she was home, all the while freaking out about the prices of Am-Track tickets out of Lawndale and how outrageous the prices of everything were becoming. It was 2002, after all, and the prices would only continue to skyrocket.

It was a small comfort to see that Jake was still retaining a little of his excitable, clueless self. Daria had an awful, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that this mundane moment was going to be the happiest she was going to see her father all summer. Jake didn't notice the melancholy look on Daria's face as he prattled about outrageous consumerism while dragging her suitcases behind him on the way to the car.

Quinn told Daria later that night that if Daria hadn't wanted to come to the graduation, she wished Daria would have been able to stay in Boston for a few more days and not been forced into coming home. All Quinn really wanted was for Helen to show up to her graduation.

Quinn's fears were not totally unfounded. Helen did show up to Quinn's graduation, but she was over an hour late and right before her daughter was about to cross the open air stage on the green space of Lawndale High. Helen hadn't bothered to turn off her cell phone. It went off as Quinn was being handed her diploma. Helen dashed out of the ceremony and was on her way back to work as soon as Quinn was all the way across the stage. Helen had been there a grand total of ten minutes, and it was the most she'd seen her mother all week.

Quinn held it together until that evening. She was in her room in a tearful rage, Daria sitting on the foot of her sister's bed as Quinn marched around her room, venting. Daria had no advice to contribute, but she felt horrible for her sister. She was glad she came home after all. Her being there, maybe, lessened the pain for Quinn. Daria hoped so, anyway, but wouldn't as readily admit to it.

Quinn's landline rang. Daria picked it up. Joey was outside, waiting for Quinn. He'd come to pick her up. Quinn stayed in her room, trying to cover up her tear streaked, mascara stained face with some foundation. Quinn wasn't even ready. She was still in her underwear and a tank top. She hadn't even bothered to look for an outfit, she'd been too busy unloading all her troubles on her sister.

Daria went downstairs and opened the door. Joey came in and made his way up to Quinn's room. He wouldn't stay long, he said. He and Quinn would be gone shortly. Kevin Thompson was having a graduation party tonight at his house. His parents were allegedly out of town and Kevin had allegedly graduated this time.

Jake was already passed out on the couch. Daria tried to block Joey's view of the living room as he headed up the stairs. What was she trying to do? Avoid the embarrassment? Not that it mattered. Joey and Quinn had been together for a few months now. They were more than official and Joey was one of the few things Quinn seemed to speak about happily. Joey was more than well aware of the state of Quinn's homelife, but that didn't mean Daria wanted him to have visual proof.

Once Joey and Quinn had left, Daria sat down at her old desktop in her room and typed a few paragraphs. _Melody Powers_ wasn't running the show right now. _Melody Powers_ wasn't doing anything exciting. She was, however, giving Daria one huge case of writer's block.

_Melody_ _Powers_ had proven to be Daria's staple and her most successful endeavour to date. _Raft Literary Magazine_ had picked up a short _Melody Powers_ story at the end of her first semester. It wasn't _Musings Magazine_ , but it was something. Daria would have sent out even more of the query letters, but her schedule was packed. For the first time in her life, homework and coursework were the priority, instead of her passion projects of writing and general laziness.

Daria stood up from the computer. She was going for a walk and a few slices of pizza to cure her writer's block. She tucked a small notepad and pen in her pants pocket just in case inspiration struck. She set off for Pizza King.

Daria was a few blocks down the street from the house, when a familiar car pulled up next to her. It was newer than the one she'd ridden in a few times in high school. Newer was a stretch. The vehicle was clunking and rattling as it idled next to her. Rust competing with the blue paint job.

"Daria, how's it going?" Trent asked, a smoker's cough punctuating the question.

"Fine. How are you?" she asked, mostly to be polite.

"I'm good." Pause. "Janey is coming home tomorrow. She's excited to see you."

"I'm sure she's barely surviving without me."

"Forgot how funny you were, Daria," Trent coughed.

"I live and die by other people's opinions of me," Daria said, impassively.

Trent said he was going to Jesse's for rehearsal, and to get drunk off their faces. Daria told him "good luck" in the most non-committal tone she could muster.

Trent invited her to join. Daria was about to pass it up. It was a waste of time. There was no point. Trent was a secondary figure in her life now anyway, not inspiring any real negative or positive emotions.

But...what else better did Daria really have to do tonight anyway? Sulk and be lonely? Sit at a computer typing trash until her writer's block corrected itself? _Fuck it._ She got in the car.

They sat in Jesse's garage. Daria nursing beers, Mystik Spiral shotgunning beers. She listened to their terrible songs. Their music hadn't improved since Daria's high school days. She made it a point of telling them as much. Jesse just didn't seem to understand that Daria was, in fact, being serious in her criticisms and being not her usual sarcastic self. Nick and Max were too drunk to be offended and Trent only shrugged it off. No one understood Trent and his band's music. He couldn't expect people to suddenly start understanding now.

Daria had a better night then she'd wanted to admit. She was able to throw snide comments around as much as she wanted and no one faulted her for it. She was peer pressured into shotgunning a beer and got more of it on herself than in her mouth, but she'd done it anyway and was met with cheers and riffs from Mystik Spiral. It could have been a worse night.

Trent volunteered to drive himself and Daria back to their neighborhood. Daria took his keys from him and said she would drive instead, she was much less far gone. He didn't argue.

When they both got into the car, sealing themselves off from the outside world, they knew _it_ was going to happen. They didn't talk much or ask each other any questions that would complicate the exchange. The tension was acknowledged and it seemed pointless to deny it.

Daria cautiously operated the death trap for the few miles it took to get back to the Lane's place.

When Daria parked the car, they remained quiet for a minute. Trent looked over at her and gave her a smooth line. Daria looked back at him and told him to cut it out, she was smarter than that and he knew it. Trent agreed and went for the direct approach. He asked her if she wanted to come in. She accepted.

They made some strong drinks in the kitchen then went upstairs. Trent played her a few more of his new compositions in the privacy of his unkempt room. Daria told him he sounded pretty good when he didn't sing or play chords. After the insult, Trent sang louder to try and get a laugh out of her. Daria didn't humor him with a laugh like he hoped she would. He got a wry, Daria smile out of her instead. It was good enough, he would take it.

Trent and Daria didn't approach any emotional nuances or heavy discussions. This wasn't that kind of one-night stand. Jane was their only common link these days and Trent already had an inkling on what a shit-storm the Morgendorffer household was from what Jane had told him.

All Daria said was she felt like it made little difference whether or not she went home that night. Trent asked her if she wanted to stay and if, maybe, she wanted to get up to something else? Daria said she could stay and she did, in fact, want to get up to something else.

It was raw and quick. Then they did it again. And another time after that.

They both passed out before the disgusting haziness of their hangovers could reach them.

Daria, two or three years ago, would have been so mortified she would have launched herself off to the moon, never to be seen again. Twenty-year-old Daria could acknowledge tonight had been exactly what she'd needed: A night providing a brief escape to tie up the stress of the past semester. A pleasant night before this summer came rolling in and she was forced to confront all of her parents' problems and figure out how she was going to fix, or more likely, only whether, this special brand of heartless and neglectful dysfunction Jake and Helen had cultivated.

When Daria woke up with the second hangover she'd ever had in her life, she scrambled to find her things in the clothing tornado on Trent's floor and she slipped out the door, not feeling to particularly sentimental about her night with Trent, just angry that she had to return to the hostile air surrounding the Morgendorffer household.

* * *

Daria woke up to a sharp knock on her bedroom door in the late afternoon, "Your friend's here!"

Quinn was shouting at Daria's door from over her shoulder, already making her way back into her own room. Jake was in the dining room, supposedly filling out job applications, but probably mixing drinks instead.

Daria got dressed to go outside, lumbered down the stairs, and opened the front door, the sunlight making her now dull headache spike up a little more.

"I got you something," Jane said, with an amused smile on her face. She held up a plastic grocery bag for Daria.

Daria dug through the bag to find her previously missing bra and t-shirt. She grimaced at her best friend.

"Let's get pizza. And while we're there you can tell about how you ended up sleeping with my brother." Jane still had that stupid, amused smile on her face.

"I hate you," Daria said flatly.


	2. Quinn's Addition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to be six chapters. It is now finished and just needs edited.

Chapter 2: "Quinn's Addition":

When Joey came to collect Quinn the evening of graduation, he greeted her slightly strange, older sister, ignored the drunk father passed out on the couch, the perpetual ornament of the Morgendorffer living room, and made his way up to Quinn's room.

She was staring at herself in the mirror, hand on her hip, hip swung out to the side. She was examining herself for any visible flaws. Her face was done up, her eyes were red from crying, and her hair was soft, like she'd recently blow dried it. She was in a tank top and underwear, clothes strew around the floor. Joey had walked in on this particular scene enough times to know Quinn was going to take her sweet time getting ready, but her red rimmed eyes let him know she was also in a horrible head space. Joey sat on Quinn's bed, facing toward her.

"I'm getting fat," Quinn said, pinching the tight skin above the waistline of her panties.

"No, you're not. You're beautiful," Joey said. He meant it to come out soft, but it came out vehemently. Either way, it was true. She was beautiful.

"It wasn't a question," she said flatly. Quinn walked over to her closet and started sorting through her clothes aggressively. If something looked offensive to her, she tore it off the hanger and threw it on the floor. She seemed to be finding most of her wardrobe especially offensive tonight.

Joey had been trained well enough in these last few months he and Quinn had been "going steady" to know better than to bring up things that made her sad, or mad, but Joey's brains and common sense weren't always his strong suit.

"I'm sorry your Mom bailed today. That was so not cool."

Quinn was pulling a pair of bedazzled jeans off a hanger when Joey opened his fat, dumb boy mouth. Quinn balled the pants up and threw them hard at the floor. She couldn't cry again. She wouldn't cry again. She'd already done enough of that today. Besides, her mascara wasn't waterproof and she'd literally just touched it up and put on foundation to hide the misstep. More tears were a fashion disaster that had to be avoided at all costs.

Quinn took a deep breath and sighed, "Yeah, me too."

Quinn dug through her closet more calmly this time, in search of an outfit. Joey flipped through the stack of fashion magazines on his girlfriend's nightstand, a low reward attempt at curbing boredom

Quinn settled on a yellow sundress, a sequin purse, and platform sandals. When she began surveying herself in the mirror again at all angles, Joey held up the latest copy of _Waif_ and began to look from Quinn to the open page, then back. "Are you sure this isn't you?" he said, gesturing with his chin to the open magazine. Something that would have normally made Quinn laugh, even feel slightly flattered, just produced a scoff.

"C'mon, let's go," Quinn said, visibly annoyed. She abandoned her own reflection and pulled Joey up off her bed by his arm. She marched out the front door, Joey trailing dumbly behind her.

* * *

Kevin Thompson's party was vapid and boring. Quinn stood next to Joey and Stacy the entire party, holding the same plastic cup of "Jungle Juice" and letting it get warm. It wasn't just Kevin's party, as lame as it was, watching the newly graduated varsity team plunge themselves into the swimming pool or watching the cheerleaders do keg stands to impress the basketball team. It was all parties. It was the way Quinn had felt most of her senior year. The things she'd used to find fun were no longer as interesting to her. The fast paced life of being in the spotlight for all of Lawndale High to see, just didn't feel that important anymore. It didn't matter as much. Quinn was happier when she could just be around Stacy and discuss her day.

That and the nasty rumors Sandi, and Tiffany, the never blameless kiss-ass, had spread about Quinn cheating on Joey. The rumors really disenchanted Quinn to the majority of her peers.

After the fashion club had dissolved at the end of Quinn's junior year, the tension between the unintended sides grew. Sandi and Tiffany, Quinn and Stacy. The girls had aligned themselves without meaning to. Quinn and Stacy didn't want any trouble, they just didn't want to deal with all the drama that Tiffany and Standi were so skilled at surrounding themselves with. The rivalry was insidious, then it got mean, then graduated to down right stupid. Sandi's grand finale of viciousness was enacted at the start of Quinn and Joey's relationship.

Sandi and Tiffany started stirrings and whispers that Quinn was cheating on Joey with Jeffy, who was dating Stacy. There were some tears, a lot of drama, and eventually a very embarrassed Sandi. All Sandi had done was further incriminate herself and accelerate Stacy and Jeffy's breakup. The two just had to admit they weren't right for one another and that dating each other just because your best friends were also dating wasn't a good foundation for a relationship. They parted amicably and ended up going to prom together anyway.

The incident Sandi and Tiffany had created, while embarrassing, ensured that Quinn and Stacy would never associate with them again in any positive capacity. It was that interaction that made Quinn realize she was "over it." While she didn't agree with her sister's misanthropic outlook on life, she was certainly beginning to understand it.

"Are you, like, going to finish that?" Stacy innocently asked her best friend, pointing her manicured index finger at Quinn's untouched cup. Quinn handed Stacy her warm drink, catching the reflection of sparkles and glitter on her friend's cherubic face. Stacy's makeup was flawless and she was adorable. Quinn wanted to tell her that, but everytime the words came to her mouth, it just seemed like too much energy and she didn't want to encourage more squealing from her excitable friend.

Joey had his arm around Quinn for most of the night. Not questioning her lack of mingling and imbibing. She was sad. Her mother hadn't bothered to call her or page her. They'd just graduated and nothing would ever be the same again. Joey would be lying if he said he wasn't a little down and nostalgic himself.

Quinn spotted Upchuck across Kevin Thompson's large backyard. He had an arm around Sandi. The resident mean girl was sporting a look of pure disgust. Leave it to skeeze like Upchuck to come to party for a school he didn't even attend anymore. _What a creep._

Tiffany was tittering at her best friend's misfortune, and hiding her laughter behind her plastic party cup. Quinn felt a bolt of revulsion shoot down her spine. Sometimes, she thought, for as horrible as Sandi was, Tiffany might be the truly awful one.

She may have disliked her two erstwhile friends, but she couldn't leave Sandi hanging like that, even if it was the last nice thing she would ever do for the pretty nightmare. Quinn whispered something into Joey's ear. Joey said he'd take care of it.

Quinn grabbed Stacy's hand and gently guided her companion to the car, even though Stacy was less concerned with her surroundings and more interested in finishing off the liquor at the bottom of the cup. As Quinn approached Joey's car, she could see her boyfriend looming over Charles Ruttheimer the Third. The geeky ginger waved his hands in front of himself to indicate it was all a giant misunderstanding, then slunk away from the girls. Joey turned on his heels and headed for his car before Sandi or Tiffany had a chance to thank him - or slander him.

* * *

Joey had dropped Stacy off at her house and swung himself and Quinn by a drive thru before parking in the lot beside the fast-food restaurant.

Quinn hated "Movie, Burger, Backseat," but she was hungry and Joey had been trying to convince her to let him take her to Chez Pierre sometime this week as a graduation gift, anyway. Quinn could overlook "Burger, backseat" just this once.

"Chez Pierre? Tomorrow?" Joey asked.

"I'll see if I can move some things around," Quinn winked. Her voice was back to her peppy, high-pitched lilt, if only for a moment.

"Well, don't let me stop you," Joey joked.

"Thanks for saving Sandi tonight, by the way."

"No problem. Someone had to do something."

Quinn and Joey cuddled in the backseat for a long while after that. It helped Joey to forget that in a few short months he and Quinn would be going to seperate colleges. That it might put a strain on their relationship. It was a good relationship. Joey didn't want or see the need to give it up. Quinn never said anything about them going their separate ways, never brought it up. Joey didn't know if that was good or bad. It was a conversation he was scared to have.

Quinn's mind was in other places. She looked up at Joey. She almost said something then.

Her beeper went off.

"It's my mom. She's probably wondering where I am," Quinn said, studying the small brick she'd been carrying in her purse. _Mom's paying attention to someone other than herself? What a miracle!_

"I'll take you home."

When Quinn got home Jake was in his usual spot on the couch and her mother was passed out in her bed, a bottle of sleeping aids on the nightstand next to her. Quinn was expecting a stern talking to or a scathing note left on her door. She would receive neither.

Quinn knocked on Daria's door after surveying her mother's room. Daria's room was empty, with its padded walls and made up, full sized bed. No one had bothered to check if Daria was home? They all just assumed she would be? Quinn slammed the door to her sister's room. She stomped down the hall to her own bedroom. Quinn's patience with her parents' double standards was only growing thinner and thinner.

* * *

The next morning, Quinn woke up much earlier than she'd intended to. Wisps of fear and anxiety filled her chest and she took deep breaths until she was able to calm herself down to a state of semi-normal. She'd been waking up like this everyday for the last week and a half. Quinn got up out of bed and crossed her room, still littered with discarded outfits from her tantrum the night before.

She entered the bathroom. Twelve days late. Still late. She did the mental math over and over again in her head, but the numbers came out the same every time.

It just wouldn't do.

Quinn slowly snuck back into her room and picked up her landline. It took a few calls, but she finally got an answer.

"Hello?" asked a tired, yet bubbly voice.

"Stacy, I need a favor."

"Can it wait? I'm, like, kinda hungover."

"St-aa-ceee, now!"

"I'm on my way!" Stacy said, snapping to attention, no questions asked. Like only Stacy would.

Quinn pulled her hair back into a ponytail and threw on a Von Dutch Tee and a track suit. She waited at the top of the steps for Stacy's knock at the door. When the knock came, Quinn raced down the stairs and out the door as fast as she could. Stacy stood in the center of the walkway all denim jacket, platform sandals, and butterfly clips. She looked endearingly annoying and as hungover as she'd sounded on the phone.

The young women piled into Stacy's parents' car, "Where are we going?"

"Drug store. Far enough away from the neighborhood where no one will notice us," Quinn dug through the glove compartment until she found a pair of sunglasses big enough to hide half of her face. Stacy had an equally large pair dangling from her t-shirt, held by one earpiece tucked into the collar.

"Quinn?" Stacy asked, like she was expecting a spicy answer.

"Just drive, please."

On their way down the block, Quinn saw her sister exiting the Lane household, looking disheveled, her jacket pulled close. Daria doing the walk of shame? This would have been a goldmine under any other circumstances. Right now, Quinn would let Daria have her secrets, because she was certainly holding onto her own.

* * *

The young women had executed their mission with lightning speed. They were in the drugstore and out in record time. Looking silly, but hopefully unidentifiable in their large sunglasses.

Stacy drove carefully back to the Morgendorffer household, parked far enough away that no one would immediately see her car, not that it mattered, it just felt like the right thing to do in this covert quest. She quietly followed Quinn up to her room. The shower was on as they passed the upstairs bathroom. Jake had still been passed out on the couch.

Stacy said nothing about the angry tornado of clothing surrounding Quinn's room. She laid down on her friends bed and put one of the pillows over her eyes to block out the growing morning sunlight. Stacy was considering napping off the remainder of her hangover, but couldn't quite manage to fall asleep with her friend aggressively pacing the length of the room.

"Do you want me to, like, go in with you?"

"No. Then my sister will know you're here and she'll start asking questions."

"Okay. Just take some deep breaths. You, like, don't even know for sure yet." It had taken Stacy most of senior year to get used to identifying Daria as Quinn's sister and not her weird, brainy cousin.

Quinn looked at her friend one last time for reassurance. She tucked the box into the waistband of her track pants and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Quinn knocked loudly on the door, "Dar-ee-a, hurry up!"

No answer. Quinn waited outside of the bathroom for what felt like hours, her anxiety growing worse with every minute.

Daria opened the door, a wall of steam following her, "All yours."

"You don't have to be sarcastic about it!" Quinn said, slamming the door behind her. She'd never been more grateful that her sister hadn't graced her with a look. Quinn felt so nervous, she was sure she'd looked like a kid who'd gotten caught snooping around in the room with their hidden birthday presents.

Quinn waited what felt like an eternity before she could pee on the stupid stick. Of all the times to have a shy bladder and in such an important moment. She would have been more furious, if she wasn't so afraid.

After she'd finally managed to take the test, she raced back to her room with all the evidence, to include the box and pamphlet she'd stupidly tucked back in her waistband.

Stacy held her friend's hand over the next few minutes. Stacy also held on to the stick, vowing it was for her best friend and that she was going to wash her hands thoroughly and promptly afterwards.

"What're you gonna do if it's positive?"

"I don't know."

"How are you going to tell Joey?"

"I don't know."

"Is this why you didn't drink last night?"

"St-aa-cee!"

"Sorry!"

Quinn took a deep breath. Stacy squeezed her hand. Quinn felt like she was trying to breath underwater. It was hard to get enough air in her lungs. She felt fuzzy, like she was sitting on the edge of a moment, but she wasn't sure if it was her moment or someone else's moment. Wasn't sure if the moment was even real.

"What does it say?"

"It's positive," Stacy said, a nervous look on her face. Quinn snatched the stick out of Stacy's hand.

"Fuck!"

* * *

Quinn cried into her pillow. She threw her pillow. She cleaned up her clothes tornado in a fury induced spree. Stacy sat on Quinn's bed, chin resting on her knees as she watched her best friend try to cope with the news.

"You have to tell Joey."

"I know."

"When are you doing out again?"

"He's supposed to take me to Chez Pierre tonight."

"Then you can tell him tonight!" Stacy's suggestion was met with a glare, "Or not?"

Stacy stayed in Quinn's room all day, hungover and trying to help her grieving friend debate the logistics of telling Joey sooner or telling Joey later. The only time Quinn left her room was to answer the front door when Jake couldn't be bothered to do it himself.

"You look awful," Jane told Quinn when she opened the door.

"Nobody asked you!"

"Rough night as Keg Queen?" Jane asked with an air of sardonic humor.

Quinn slammed the front door in Jane's face. She knocked on Daria's door and told her Jane was waiting. Then she marched back to her room where she wouldn't have to take anyone else's bullshit.

The interaction with Jane, as small as it was, pushed Quinn's brewing anger to a full boil. Quinn was enraged, she was furious, and she was going to use it to do the right thing before she got scared and changed her mind again.

She marched up to her landline, dialed the number, and held Stacy's hand for emotional support.

"Joey? Can you pick me up a little early? We need to talk."


	3. The Lost Girls

Chapter 3: "The Lost Girls":

When Daria and Jane got to Pizza King, they put in an order with a hungover and dopey Kevin Thompson. Daria said something snide. Kevin laughed it off, thinking it was a compliment. Daria and Jane grabbed a booth in the relative emptiness of the restaurant.

Kevin brought out the pizza. The order was messed up. They sent the pizza back. Daria had flashbacks to her short lived job at It's A Nutty, Nutty, Nutty World. Someone else brought out the second pizza and apologized on Kevin's behalf.

"Brittany must be so proud," Daria muttered.

"Not as proud as DeMartino," Jane said. "I heard he had another heart attack when Boy Wonder graduated."

"Happiness is a dangerous thing. So are bursting blood vessels," Daria said, with mock caution.

"What's this 'Happiness' you speak of?" Jane asked.

"I don't know, but it doesn't exist here. I should have stayed in Boston," Daria said. She bit into a slice of pizza, accidentally tearing the entire cheese topping off in the first bite. The cheese incident was an apt indication of how it felt to be home these last two days.

"Young Thomas is in Boston. I think that would suit you, Daria," Jane smirked at her friend who was wiping sauce off her chin and staring angrily at the glob of cheese in the middle of her plate.

"I _really_ hate you," Daria told her best friend.

"You still haven't said a word about Trent."

"There's nothing to tell."

"That's not what he said."

"It was a one time thing. It wasn't a big deal. I'm done talking about this."

"Does Trent know it's a one time thing?" Jane teased.

The glower Daria had been sporting since she opened the front door to greet her friend that afternoon, grew a little darker. Daria had little tolerance and patience for stupidity. The utter state of residual chaos and resentment Jake and Helen left littering the house didn't do anything to temper Daria's slow simmering aggression. That along with Quinn's constant, agonized crying and whining was enough to make the simmering, boil over. The only one who got a pass on that one was Quinn, and it was a pass that would be expiring soon with the way her sister abused it with her torrential tears.

"Don't look at me like that," Jane said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Daria said.

"Sure you do! This is a huge step for you. Fifteen-year-old Daria got a rash when Trent got too close. Got her belly button pierced to impress him. But you? You just slept with him and you're completely collected."

"One small step for Daria, one giant leap for women with Daddy Issues, everywhere," Daria took a large sip of her soda, and thought about dumping her soda all over her best friend. Childish and unlike her, yes. Effective, also yes.

" _Daddy Issues_. Isn't that the name of a magazine?" Jane quipped. This prompted a wry, Mona Lisa smirk from Daria. Was Miss Morgendorffer beginning to thaw? It's almost like Jane knew her best friend too well. She wasn't totally done teasing the hungover brunette, though. Not yet.

"As a matter of fact, it is, and I'm interviewing you for my first article," Daria's monotone lilt was pointed, but the bite behind the clapback wasn't all there.

"All bark and no bite? That bad at home?" Jane asked.

"I haven't seen my mother once and my dad's so blacked out he doesn't speak, but Quinn's crying and screaming makes up for all of that. Which is good, because I was afraid the house would be too quiet. I was afraid I was actually going to enjoy myself while I was home."

"In my family everyone would just run away. Or, in Wind's case, get married again. Has Miss Teen Beauty Queen tried either of those options?"

"No. I'm first."

"To get married or to run away?"

"Both sound equally horrible. So either will do."

"Young Thomas would marry. If you asked nicely."

"You're never going to let me live that down."

"And not take prime advantage of your lowest points in life? Never. We're friends, Daria. _Best friends_."

"I'll show you where you can shove that friendship."

Translation: Jane was _so_ paying for this pizza.

There is no aspect, no facet, no moment of life that couldn't be improved with pizza.

And it tasted even better when someone else was paying for that pizza.

* * *

Tom Sloane and Daria Morgendorffer were a saga that hadn't quite ended when they'd gone off to college, they just hadn't known it at the time.

There was a phone call. That very phone call that Daria and Tom had agreed to. The proverbial comparison of notes and life circumstance that happened sometime around the holiday break, right after the end of the first semester.

Tom emailed Daria's old email address. The one she still used for Quinn and her Aunt Amy to get a hold of her, because Daria didn't have time to sit in the communal lounge and wait for the dorm hall phones to be free. Daria also didn't believe in pagers. If she and Jane wanted to see each other, they would just show up at one another's dorms.

Daria did eventually get a fat block, a Nokia. It was mostly for Quinn's sake. Aunt Amy footed the bill for it. In true ironic fashion, Daria had something popular and trendy before Quinn did. Neither sister commented on this. Daria later regretted this acquisition when Jake decided Daria would be his personal late night telephone therapist.

Tom didn't get Daria's cell phone number with that first email, much to his chagrin.

Tom's email said he wanted Daria's phone number, or at least for her to call him. He left his contact information in the email. He said he was thinking about her and how they'd said they'd compare notes. He also said one of the guys in his program had been in a writing workshop earlier that year. There was some freshman from Raft that had attended the workshop, named Doreen or Daris or something like that, who was a "masterful writer." He had some literary magazines from the workshop with her short stories in them. It was a coincidence that his buddy was at that workshop, Tom wrote, but a pleasant one.

This email simultaneously did and did not sound like Tom. Daria decided she wasn't going to call him.

She also decided she was going to stay in Boston for Christmas. Things at home were already growing more and more bleak, as relayed with every email and phone call Daria got. Quinn had already decided she was going to the Hamptons with Aunt Rita and her new husband. Quinn did this partially to spark her mother's rage and mostly to get away from the seemingly omnipresent turbulence in the Morgendorffer household.

Quinn had a terrible time with Aunt Rita and her husband and Daria could tell when she spoke with her sister over the phone on Christmas Day. She could hear it in Quinn's voice. She didn't point it out, though. It seemed to be silently understood by the sisters that true feelings and reality were to be avoided so as to not shatter the fragile illusions of happiness they'd both constructed for themselves in those few weeks of their respective vacations. Quinn found her temporary escape in the Hamptons and Daria, regrettably and as a result of poor choice making, found her escape, too, in Tom Sloane.

Jane went home for the holidays. Mostly to revel in the utter chaos and self-destruction of a Christmas-cum-Lane family reunion. It was an opportunity Jane simply could not refuse.

No Jane, no problem. Until it was a problem. Daria never considered herself co-dependant on her best friend. Still, there were only so many edits and drafts Daria could write before she couldn't stand writing anymore. There were only so many reruns of _Sick, Sad World_ she could stomach. There was only so much confusion, sequestered sadness, and uncertainty in her own family's future that Daria could push away and avoid thinking about. And Tom Sloane had just emailed her again.

They said they would stay friends, so what could one phone call hurt?

That's how Daria, in the ultimate form of irony, lost her virginity to Tom Sloane afterall. It wasn't as vague and simple as all of that, she'd told herself. It wasn't as ironic as it seemed, she told herself.

Unlike Jane, who'd lost her virginity at eleven A.M., on move-in day at BFAC, post orientation, just as she had predicted, Daria could have cared less about sex. It had a little bit to do with the residual clinging to her fear of intimacy, but mostly it was because she didn't care and couldn't be bothered with sex.

She called Tom and they trudged through awkward pleasantries. It wasn't a particularly profound conversation and Daria found herself regretting the phone call, just out of the sheer boredom it was causing her. Before she hung up, Tom asked her if she wanted to get a cup of coffee. Daria agreed, because these days she seemed to embrace the philosophy of "Why not? I don't have anything better going on." And on principle, she'd always enjoyed seeing train wrecks.

Months later, when she finally came clean to Jane, her best friend told her it was just because she'd wanted to see her ex-boyfriend. Daria denied the assertion, but knew Jane was right. She'd actually wanted to see Tom and it really was just that simple.

Daria went out on the not-date with Tom. He drove over from Bromwell, picked her up in his shiny new car, a gift from Angier and Kay for getting into college, and drove her to an artsy cafe that Daria both liked and hated the vibe of. It was dingy and inspiring and secluded, but it was all of those things on purpose, and that was what made Daria hate the coffee shop. It was utterly symbolic of how Tom had changed as well without having changed all that much at all.

"You're driving a car your parents bought you? Another new car within the year? When did you sell out even harder?"

Tom was quick to point out he hadn't sold out. It was sticking it to his parents by letting them spend money on him with wild abandon. His sister, Elsie, had inherited the Jaguar. She'd complained about it and about the fact Tom had gotten a brand new car and a loft apartment in Boston. Tom wasn't stuck as a freshman living in the dorms and seeing Elsie complain about it was well worth it, even though she had no real reason to complain. It was bratty on her part, but also funny for Tom to witness. He'd explained this all to Daria in his own defense.

"You're a sellout," Daria confirmed, after patiently listening to his story.

"You're a raging cynic," Tom retorted.

They both laughed at that. It was the only laugh they shared on their first not-date. The rest of it was fumbling and awkward. A lot of misplaced questions and a very pathetic attempt to catch up.

Daria left the not-date wondering why she even bothered to go. All the curiosity in seeing Tom was dampened. The curiosity wasn't worth the feat, was it? Tom left the not-date feeling wholly unsatisfied and berating himself for being awkward and messing it all up. The only worthwhile information Tom got was that Daria was not going home for the holidays, just like he wasn't going home for the holidays.

Tom emailed Daria again a few days before Christmas. Daria, against her better judgement, found herself on another not-date with Tom. Same coffee shop, same awkward attempt at catching up. It was a series of small interactions, but it was revealing enough.

"You've changed," Daria said into her cup of coffee.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, but it's not a good thing, either."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he'd asked.

He was more embracing of his status, she told him. More comfortable with his parents' money. More dull. He didn't seem to have the same sharp sarcastic eye. He was less biting and this whole not-date charade seemed to be a lot more about him. A lot more for his benefit, then for the both of them.

"You're dull, too," he told her.

"At least I'm still myself," she fired back.

Tom told her she'd grown even more acerbic and mean. The Daria he'd come to know in the year they had been together had at least known how to trust him. The Daria he'd come to know in the year they were together was more honest about how she felt and was open to trying new things. The Daria he's come to know in the year they were together had actually started to give people a chance.

They'd both just called each other out. It was unrefined and unsatisfying. Daria was desperately disgusted with herself for wasting her time.

"If that's how you feel, why did you bother going out with me again?" she asked. Had Daria just acknowledged this not-date was a date? It didn't matter, it was a small price to pay for answers in the interest of fury.

Tom had been dating a sophomore in his program for a few months during his first semester. She was a nice brunette. Short and sarcastic and mean. She dumped him a month before the end of the semester. She got bored with him, he said.

_There it was._ Tom had gotten in contact with Daria because she was his rebound. It was deplorable and Daria told him exactly where he could shove this not-date. She got up and walked out of the coffee shop, throwing her coat on in the Boston, December air.

Tom threw cash on the table, what he considered more than enough for tip and bill, and raced out of the coffee shop, shouting after Daria. He told Daria that she didn't understand, she wasn't the rebound, his sophomore sweetheart had been the rebound. She'd looked, talked, and acted exactly like Daria, but she _wasn't_ Daria. Tom missed _Daria_. Tom knew he and Daria had run their course. _Had_. But what about now? What did they have to lose?

Daria could have laughed in Tom's face. This was the kind of melodramatic junk that Daria would write satire about. The kind of thing she would make fun of. The kind thing she _and_ Tom would both have made fun of. Daria was smarter than this. She knew better. So why did she go back to Tom's apartment with him? Why did she have sex with him that night?

Why did she pack a bag as soon as she got home the next day and turn right back around to go to Tom's apartment again to spend the next three days with him? She thought a lot about it over her second semester. The only answer she could come up with was because she'd wanted to. Because she was, and always had been, a creature of habit and she took comfort in the familiar. Tom was safe and easy, even if he had changed a little.

Daria and Tom continued like that into March. Daria would come over occasionally. They would fool around. They would go see a play or a movie, something foreign that made them think. Something existential or nihilistic that they could make fun of over pizza.

Daria would spend the occasional weekend at Tom's apartment eating take out and writing papers or reading classics. Tom's bookshelves were beginning to fill out. All with things Daria would want to read, never things Tom was truly interested in reading. She pretended not to notice her was filling his bookshelves for her.

Tom regaled Daria with tales about his family woes and tribulations. Daria told him she could do him one better. She told him everything about Jake, Helen, and Quinn. Tom had a decent idea, given the conversation on Christmas Day that Daria had with her younger sister.

Tom had tried to avoid overhearing the call, but the apartment was small and Quinn had a loud voice, a voice that could be heard even in the next room. Then Jake began to call Daria later and later at night and for longer durations. Daria even got a cell phone. Tom knew that while she would never admit it, Daria felt more than a little responsible for the well being of her father and her sister. Tom could see Daria was losing sympathy for her mother until it all but evaporated.

Daria was wearing thin. She was tip-toeing around Jane, using extra credit hours as reason to not engage with her best friends as much. Quinn and Jake were falling apart. Helen was someone she almost never heard from and didn't feel like she knew anymore. School was demanding, but manageable. Then there was Tom. For Tom, Daria was shelter from the storm. For Daria, Tom was any port in a storm and she didn't realize it until it was almost too late.

It was the end of March and Daria had been on the phone with Jake for three hours the night prior. She was in the middle of a paper and Jake called. He droned on while Daria tried to work on her paper, but she couldn't focus. She gave up and dedicated herself to her father's lamentations. Tom sat beside her, with headphones on, working on his own paper and occasionally glancing over at Daria to make sure she was okay. Jake passed out. Daria hung up. Jake had finally gotten himself fired from the consulting firm. He had a huge fight about it with Helen. The most Jake and Helen had talked in months. Daria turned to Tom and told him that she couldn't take her family's craziness anymore. Tom talked her down. They fell asleep after that.

When Daria woke up, after a night of little sleep and much restlessness, she went into Tom's open plan kitchen to make a pot of coffee. She had her back against the counter, waiting for the pot to brew. She looked across the living room at Tom's bookshelf and saw a few new books. The ones she liked to pretend not to notice, yet, always grew in quantity. She crossed the room to investigate. Among the handful of new titles was Niccolo Machiavelli's _The Prince_.

The first time she'd realized how she felt about Tom, she'd been in Jane's house after the fire and the hotel and the insidious distrust Jane had begun to throw her way. Tom had come into the room, unprompted, and sat down with her. Daria had been reading _The Prince_.

_There it was._ Tom was serious about Daria. He was serious about her now, he was serious about her then. Had he ever really stopped feeling that way? The fucking fool was in love with her. It hit her like a train.

And she didn't feel the same way.

Tom had been doing things for her that she'd pretended not to notice. He'd remembered dumb, stupid shit from the first time they were togther, like the damn book. Tom would do things for Daria that she would not do in return for him. It was a bitter realization and Daria knew what she had to do.

She took the book off the shelf and set it on the breakfast nook opposite the coffee pot. She waited. She didn't have to wait for very long.

"You found the new books?" Tom asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He sounded so proud when he said it.

"We need to talk."

Tom's face fell. He set his coffee mug on the counter with force. It made a hard and final bang. Just like Daria's words.

She told him that this couldn't keep going on. They couldn't keep this up. He was too serious about her. This meant way more to him than it did to her. She'd know it and tried to ignore it at the cost of comfort and not being alone in a time of crisis. She had to be honest with herself and honest with him.

Tom told her how wrong she was. How great things had been between them. How things were better than the first time. Tom put so much energy into showing Daria how much she meant to him. Tom put so much energy into trying to beg her to stay. Tom Sloane, literally begging her to stay.

It was touching. It was pathetic. It was easy, but it was wrong.

Daria broke Tom's heart for the second time. Tom loved her and she was leading him on. That was not who Daria was. It wasn't who she thought she was, at least.

Daria was beginning to learn that who she was and who she thought she was were sometimes two very opposing ideologies. She was beginning to learn who she thought her parents and sister were, and who they really were, were also opposing ideologies.

Daria never thought she would see the day where she could surely and securely admit that Quinn was the most grounded and well adjusted out of all of them. The most functional. Her tear filled, panicky, vapid sister.

Two days after leaving Tom for good, Daria invited herself over to Jane's dorm. She came clean to her friend. Jane had known the whole time. Of course she had. Maybe not that it was Tom, but that something was up, or someone. Jane didn't judge her, but she told Daria she would never let her live it down.

Daria felt justified, but she wasn't happy and she didn't feel happy about hurting Tom like she had. She also had a fleeting feeling that this wasn't quite over, but she killed that thought before she could let herself entertain it further.

Tom and Daria had been able to teach each other one thing through all of this: They had moved on to a new stage in life, but neither of them had grown up. Neither of them had matured. They were both still holding onto juvenile thoughts and ideas and dreams. With horrible attitudes and bleak outlooks. Worst of all, Tom couldn't let Daria go and Daria only wanted to let Tom go.

* * *

Stacy volunteered to stay with Quinn. She said she'd run home and pack a bag for the night. She'd be back by the time Quinn and Joey were done talking. She'd be there for Quinn no matter what Joey said.

Quinn loved Stacy for that, but she couldn't let her friend be her crutch. Having Stacy there, and having her come back, might complicate it and make it worse. She told Stacy to go home and that she would call her tomorrow.

Quinn asked Joey to take her back to the burger joint they'd gone to the night before. She didn't want to go to Chez Pierre anymore. It all just seemed like too much. It didn't seem like the right place to have such an intense conversation. Quinn wanted something casual, with no pressure.

A fast food restaurant wasn't exactly elegant, but it was the best most comfortable thing she could come up with.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"Just pick me up at six, okay?"

"Okay."

She hung up feeling a little hollow. It was cruel, she knew, to let Joey thoughts wander to the worst, and maybe even somewhat, truest possibilities. It was better than the alternative. The truth that was going to be hard enough to tell him anyway. If Joey thought his world was flipped upside down, he had no idea yet. Somehow this made Quinn feel even worse.

After Quinn sent Stacy home, she walked downstairs and sat with her father who was busy nursing a martini at the dining room table and not filling out job applications, just staring into them like they were going to forecast his future. An alcoholic's crystal ball.

She looked at her Dad, who hardly even noticed she was there, and thought about Lindy. How was it she could beg that sad, silly woman to get help. The woman who seemed so sophisticated and simultaneously such a mess, but she felt powerless to even speak a word of help to her own father?

If Quinn was being honest, she hadn't come downstairs for her father anyway. She'd come downstairs to see if she could find Daria. It was painfully obvious her sister hadn't come back from hanging out with Jane yet, but Quinn felt better pretending Daria was in her padded room, blissfully ignoring the youngest Morgendorffer. Quinn went upstairs to her own room and occupied herself with her getting ready. She applied her makeup and did her hair.

She spent an unwise amount of time staring at herself in the mirror in her underwear again. _No wonder I thought I was getting fat._

She could have stared at herself in the mirror and felt sorry for herself right up until Joey came to the front door. It took most of her willpower not to. She got dressed and waited in the living room for Joey to knock on the front door. This was the only time in her life she'd ever found herself waiting on someone else.

It felt like an eternity before Joey was at the door, but in comparison to everything else that happened that day, it had all felt like an eternity. It felt like the longest, saddest, and most important day in Quinn's entire eighteen years. And she felt like she was going to throw up from nervousness the entire time.

The knock finally came.

Joey opened up the car door for Quinn and kissed her on the cheek before she got inside. The ride to the restaurant was quiet. Quinn held Joey's hand the whole time, squeezing hard like she was afraid to let go. All Joey could think of was how much it felt like a mixed signal.

They went through the drive through and sat at the tables outside. It was still daylight and Quinn thought about how it didn't feel as private or as right to tell him the news in the sunlight. Cars were out, people were out walking, and chatting animatedly at the restaurant.

Quinn and Joey both stared at their burgers, not removing the wrapping, not making an attempt to eat.

Quinn looked down at the table.

"What's wrong? Whatever it is, we can fix it."

Quinn took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing._

"I'm pregnant."

"I can't hear you."

"I'm pregnant!"

Joey's eyes widened a little. Had his brain malfunctioned? Quinn was about to shout at him to say something. Anything! Before Quinn could open her mouth, she heard a voice behind her.

"Pregnant? Oh, wow, Quinn! Congratulations."

* * *

Daria spent the rest of the afternoon with Jane, in her room. Jane slung paint at a canvas and Daria scrawled some short story ideas on a legal pad. Nothing really came to fruition, Jane's music was too loud to let Daria focus anyway. Whatever Jane had on the stereo was worse than Mystik Spiral, who were currently somewhere at Jesse's probably getting baked and not actually playing music. Or they thought Mystik Spiral was at Jesse's.

Jane flipped the canvas around to face Daria, "What do you think?"

"My soul screams agony, but my heart screams for the sweet release from this mortal coil," Daria deadpanned. She hadn't bothered to look at the canvas for very long, just long enough to notice the bold and dark colors.

"Those could be good lyrics," a voice coughed.

"Maybe if your audience is brain dead," Daria threw back.

"That's funny, Daria," Trent coughed, again.

"I haven't heard that one before," Daria gave Trent a wry smile. Trent gave a smile in return and disappeared past Jane's doorway.

Jane gave Daria her that aggravating, amused smile again.

"One time thing," Daria defended as she stood up from Jane's bed.

"Leaving already?"

"I might as well get home. Make sure the lasagna is in the oven. For all people that aren't going to eat it."

"This early excursion wouldn't have something to do with Trent coming home, now would it?"

"Go to Hell," Daria smiled at her friend before exiting the Lane household in favor of her own.

It was after six, still sunny enough to be annoying. Still early enough for Helen to not be home. Daria came in through the front door and headed toward the kitchen to make a frozen lasagna dinner for one.

There was a pungent odor in the air that she smelled the moment she stepped into the house.

She made it a few feet into the house when she saw her father on hands and knees in between the couch and coffee table. Jake was violently vomiting onto the carpet. Daria crouched down beside her father. She pulled her t-shirt up over her nose and mouth to prevent herself from sympathy vomiting and contributing to the disaster.

On the coffee table was a rolled up newspaper, an empty martini glass, and her mother's bottle of sleeping pills. Daria felt a pit in her stomach and a sinking feeling in her spine. Her father was mostly dry heaving now, but it still horrified her. She reached for the bottle of sleeping pills and opened it up. The terror abated a little when she saw the bottle was mostly full.

Jake stopped heaving. It took most of Daria's self control to not slap her father in the face. A small price to pay for the wrath of his daughter. Especially one who thought she'd just walked in on a botched suicide attempt.

"Dad, what the _fuck_ were you thinking!?"

"I'm-I'm sorry," was all Jake uttered.

"How many did you take?" Daria demanded.

"Tw-two," Jake was still catching his breath.

"Get up," Daria said, ire in her voice.

Jake didn't move to get up. He stayed on all fours, staring into his own puddle of vomit.

"I said 'Get. Up,'" Daria locked her arms under one of her father's armpits and tried to hoist him up. He didn't budge at first, but Daria kept fighting him. Jake gave in and stood up. Daria slowly ushered her father up the stairs, with him leaning heavily on her. They had to stop a few times, but damned if she wasn't going to at least get her father upstairs.

Daria dragged Jake to the bathroom. He stumbled and fumbled his way into the bathroom. Daria told him to sit on the toilet while she went to his and Helen's room to get clean clothes. She set the clothes on the counter and told her father to clean himself up. She stood outside of the bathroom with the door closed while her father showered, listening carefully and silently praying he didn't fall over. Getting him up the steps had been hard enough.

Daria briefly debated if she should call an ambulance or maybe drag him to the car and take him to the ER once all the vomit was off of him. He seemed coherent enough. She hesitantly decided against it.

It took Jake the better part of an hour to get showered and dressed, with Daria standing in the hallway the whole time.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Dad?" Daria asked him again, through the closed door.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"I don't care what the fuck you _weren't_ trying to do. Do you know what that looked like? What if Quinn had found you like that?"

Daria realized she'd struck a chord with the last comment. Jake was blubbering about how he'd failed his daughters, how he'd disappointed them. It was low and it was manipulative, but Daria used Quinn and her imaginary disappointment as motivation for Jake. It got him to get showered, dressed, and to walk to Daria's room without falling over.

Jake didn't question his daughter's direction. He was too tired and too far gone. It was easier to let someone make the decisions for him.

Daria put Jake to bed in her room and stood close enough to watch his breathing until she was sure he was only asleep. She couldn't shake the feeling that as soon as she turned her back on him, he would stop breathing or do something dumb and crazy. She knew it was fear talking, but as much as she rationalized it, she couldn't shake her fright.

Daria grabbed an old shirt from her dresser, tied it around her nose and mouth and went downstairs to get the cleaning supplies.

She scrubbed and treated the carpet, taking all her rage out on the task instead of doing what she really wanted to do - call Helen and unload months of anger and rage on her. Tell her what a shitty wife and mother she'd been. Yell at her for leaving her sleeping pills out in the open. Yell at Helen for having to put her father to sleep in her room because if she had put him to sleep in his and Helen's room, Helen would have freaked out and run off to Eric's for the night. Daria also wanted to yell at her mother for how good she had become at running off to her boss, running off in general.

Daria didn't know for sure if her mother was having an affair with her boss, but she had a hunch that was about as accurate as hunches came. Jake had said as much himself in fit of late night drunken babbling during a few of his phone calls..

Daria scrubbed and scrubbed until there was nothing but a discolored spot on the worn carpet in front of the couch. Maybe she shouldn't have used bleach based products, but so far that wasn't the least of her problems.

Daria put the cleaning supplies back up and jogged up the steps to check on her father.

He was still breathing.

They had all been running to false methods of comfort. Her father ran to alcohol, her mother ran to work as means of ignoring reality, and maybe even into the arms of another man. Daria had run to Tom. Quinn ran to anyone who would listen to her agonzied cries.

Tonight, seeing her father like that, Daria finally realized just how bad Quinn had it. Just how bad her father had it, even though he'd been crying to her for months and months. She'd put so much energy into hating her mother, she hadn't even thought about what she could do for her father. She needed to do something. Why had she stood by for months and done nothing?

Daria felt rage blossom in her chest. She was angry with the world. Angry at her mother, her father. Angry at Tom and Jane and Quinn. More than anything, though, she was angry with herself.

"I can't let you do this to yourself anymore," she whispered to her sleeping father. Daria walked over by her bed and quietly dialed a number on her landline. Her family had already been tearing itself apart. What was more chaos at the cost of finally doing something that should have been done months ago? The other line picked up.

"Grandma, it's Daria…"


	4. Jake Of Hearts

Chapter 4: "Jake Of Hearts":

"Pregnant? Oh, wow, Quinn! Congratulations," Sandi said, standing a few feet behind Quinn. Quinn felt her heart drop as she spun around to face her erstwhile friend.

"What do you want, Sandi?" It was all Quinn could manage to say and it didn't come out as menacing as she'd intended.

"I'm, like, so happy for you," Sandi paused, her nasty smile stretched wider, "Do Jeffy and Jamie know? Who's the father?"

"Do you ever mind your own business?" Joey asked, standing up from his seat.

"You have a right to know. I mean, if it _is_ your kid," Sandi said, looking Joey in the eyes.

"Don't you have anything better to do, Sandi," Quinn said, folding her arms over her chest.

"What? I can't congratulate you? It's so exciting! I can't wait to tell Tiffany," Sandi said, her tone menacing.

"That's not your news to share," Quinn said, glaring up at Sandi through her bangs.

"We're leaving," Joey said firmly, shooting Sandi an irate look. He grabbed Quinn's hand and helped pull her up from the chair. Joey walked fast, practically dragging Quinn behind him. Tunnel vision guiding him directly to the car. They made it halfway across the parking lot of the burger joint when Quinn pulled her hand out of Joey's and stopped in her tracks.

"Joey!"

Joey stopped and turned around, not seeming to notice Quinn wasn't following behind him anymore until he heard his name.

"We need to talk about this," Quinn said. She was cool and controlled, but she felt her hands shaking. She wasn't sure if it was the interaction with Sandi, Joey's lack of response to the news, or some combination of both.

Joey's shoulders went slack. The puffed chest and macho posture he'd had a few moments before began to seep out of him. He saw the fear in Quinn's eyes. The sadness. He couldn't begin to imagine how hard it had been to tell him in the first place, and here Sandi was, a few yards behind them twirling a strand of hair around one finger, cell phone to her ear, already spreading the news to Tiffany and the rest of Lawndale High's graduating class.

"Okay," Joey said. He put his arm around Quinn's shoulders and ushered her to the car at a relaxed pace. "Do you want to go to Chez Pierre instead?" he asked stupidly.

"I'm not hungry, anymore. I just want to go somewhere else," Quinn said. Joey was starving and neither of them had taken a bite. Their burgers abandon on the table somewhere in close proximity to Sandi. Joey didn't feel the need to point any of these things out to Quinn. It didn't seem like the thing that was truly important right now.

They sat in Joey's car for a while, staring out through the windshield, not going anywhere or saying anything.

Joey reached over and laced his fingers through Quinn's. Quinn didn't feel anymore reassured. She couldn't find it in herself to feel any comfort in Joey and she couldn't figure out why. She just knew that she hadn't found as much or as deep of the comfort in Joey now that she once had.

Joey squeezed her hand, trying to get her attention, "We'll be okay. I'm here, ya know?"

"I don't even know what I'm going to do about all of this. Do I want to keep the baby? Can I?"

"We have plenty of time to figure it out."

"You keep saying 'we,'" Quinn choked. "How do I know you won't change your mind?"

_How do you know I won't change my mind?_

"Is that really what you think about me? That I'm going to just leave you?"

"I'm allowed to be scared!"

Joey didn't say anything after that. He held onto Quinn's hand. She was taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself down before her panic reached its apex. She'd spent so much time crying over these last few days and months, why cry now? What was it going to solve? She couldn't muster up the energy. She felt wholly numb as her panic receded.

"You're allowed to be scared," Joey confirmed, finally. "I'm here to be scared with you. So, just tell me what you want to do, and we'll do it."

There was a lot to think about, but that seemed so obvious that it would be stupid to say it aloud. So she squeezed his hand and asked him to take her home instead.

* * *

"Grandma, it's Daria…"

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

_Strong start, Grandma._

"I'm calling about, Dad, actually."

"Is Jake finally leaving your bitchy mother? That Helen was never a homemaker..."

"Grandma!" Daria snapped. She had her own grievances with her mother, but she wasn't going to standby and let her grandmother bash her mother over the phone. Not with more important things needing immediate attention. Ruth could confront Helen in person, if Helen was even willing to step out of her own delusional bubble and acknowledge Ruth's presence. Daria would much prefer to see the looks on both the matriarch's faces during a harsh exchange of words, anyway.

"What is it, dear?" Ruth asked, sounding put off.

"He's just- not going well. It might do him some good if you come visit," Daria suggested a little desperately.

"I'm coming to visit at the end of the summer," Ruth pointed out cooly.

"I know. You might want to consider moving the trip up a little. Especially since you weren't at Quinn's graduation," Daria said more firmly.

"I don't suppose you called this late just to start an argument with me, Daria?"

"Astute observation, Grandma."

"Don't be short with me. You can tell me the problem and still show some respect."

"I think it would be better if you saw it for yourself."

Daria gave a sparing amount of detail, but it seemed to be enough. Ruth agreed to make her way to Lawndale in the morning. She would make arrangements and drive over. The drive would take a few hours, tops. If it was so bad that Daria would call her, she would come. At any rate, giving "that Helen" a piece of her mind might have been worth the trip alone anyway.

When Daria got off the phone with her grandmother, she stood in her room for a while longer, watching her father and not wanting to admit she was too afraid to leave him. After some time and self convincing, her logic began to appeal to her. She grabbed her copy of _Anna Karenina_ from her bookshelf and made her way to the living room.

Daria sat on the couch and blankly stared into her opened tome. She was going to sit here and read? That was her solution? Escape through books like she always had? It seemed like the only logical option to temper the insanity swirling around her.

Daria was strategically positioning herself in the living room, she'd done it without even really thinking about it. She was planning on unleashing her grief and anger on Helen when she walked through the front door. She had a fuzzy idea of how it was going to go down, but no real delicate way to approach the situation. Was it totally futile? Was she just mimicking her father, with the exception of the alcoholic oblivion? And she'd never gotten a straight answer out of her father anyway. What the fuck had he been doing? Was he just trying to sleep or was he trying to make a stupid, desperate cry for help so Helen would notice him?

Forget reruns of _Sick, Sad World_. Her family was sick and sad enough.

The front door opened, Daria snapped up from her book and looked over in the direction of the sound.

"Daria?" Quinn sounded meek and unsure. It was more than a little worrying for Daria.

"Over here," she responded quietly.

Quinn crossed the living room and sat down on the couch next to her sister, "Why is the carpet squishy?" Quinn moved the heel of her boot back and forth, grounding the carpet underneath it.

"Dad threw up."

"Ew." Quinn glanced around the living room, "Where is he?"

"In my room. He's asleep."

"Go figure. Is Mom home yet?"

"What do you think?"

"Go figure," Quinn repeated.

Daria retrained her focus on Leo Tolstoy. Quinn cleared her throat.

"Yeah?" Daria asked, not taking her eyes off the book.

"Daria, can I talk to you?"

"You're already talking."

"You know what I mean."

"What?" Daria closed her book and looked up at her sister.

"I need some advice."

"What? Are you pregnant or something?" Daria quipped.

Quinn looked down at the wet, squishy living room floor.

"Seriously?" Daria's question was guileless and incredulous.

Quinn just nodded.

"You talked to Joey?"

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

"He says he's here for me no matter what I want to do."

"Do you know what you want to do?"

Quinn hesitated for a moment, still looking down at the wet, bleachy spot on the floor, "Yeah, I do."

"Did you tell him?"

"Not yet."

"Okay."

"I wanted to talk to you first. Because you won't judge me." Quinn shifted her gaze back to her sister.

"Don't be too sure about that," Daria gave her sister a smile that she thought was playful. Quinn thought the smile looked snarky.

"I-I don't think I want to keep it."

"Okay."

"'Okay?'"

"I mean that 'It's okay you don't want to keep the baby.' You need to tell him that, though."

"Sandi knows."

"You told Sandi?" Daria was guileless and incredulous twice in a span of minutes. This truly was a summer vacation for the records.

"Not intentionally. She just...showed up."

"Well, you can't change it now."

"Half of Lawndale probably knows by now."

"Why do you care what they think?"

"Daria, you're supposed to be the smart one," Quinn's expression said " _Get real"_ as much as her tone did.

"Right, because you're the one who bases her entire image on what other people think. That's how you're going to spend the rest of your life, letting every stupid person you know and what they think of you, define who you are," Daria said, caustically.

Quinn could have said something rude in return, could have got up and walked away, but she understood what Daria meant. She understood her sister's strange brand of tough love. Quinn hugged her sister, instead.

Daria stiffened, but didn't push her sister away. She'd let Quinn have her hug, but would deny this moment ever happened.

"Should I tell Mom and Dad?" Quinn asked.

As she asked, the front door was already opening, "Tell me what?" Helen asked, hardly glancing at her daughters.

Quinn looked at Daria, the terror on her face apparent.

"Grandma is coming to visit. She'll be here tomorrow," Daria responded to Helen flatly.

"Of course she is. And when was she planning on calling to tell us this?"

"I talked to her a little bit ago. Maybe if you were here, you wouldn't have missed the conversation."

"Well, she's not staying here," Helen said. She'd crossed the living room and already had one foot on the first step.

"Right, and if you had your way, the same would go for Dad?"

"What was that, dear?" Helen asked acerbically, daring her daughter to repeat her insolent comment.

"Nothing," Daria said, dispassionately.

Helen graced her oldest daughter with a grimace and headed up the stairs.

"Grandma? That's going to end well."

"I called her," Daria said.

"Why? And when were you going to tell me?"

"Well, is that how you wanted Mom to find out that you're harboring a parasite?"

"No."

"You're welcome."

"Why did you call Grandma?" Quinn repeated the unanswered question.

"Dad was vomiting up sleeping pills. He needs help. Real help. The kind of help we can't afford. If Grandma sees how bad he is, she'll take care of it. That's what I'm hoping, anyway."

Quinn didn't say anything, just just hugged Daria again and cried into her sister's T-shirt. So much for being numb and having cried out all her tears. And Daria was being so direct. She'd been straightforward with Helen. Hostile, even. Quinn had only known Daria to be straightforward in times of personal crisis. Seeing her sister open up to her true feelings was scary. Quinn never imagined Daria coming out of her shell could happen in quite as bleak of a way.

Were they at the lowest point? Is this what hovering over rock bottom felt like?

Daria wanted to tear up the staircase and corner her mother. She wanted to go with her original, ill-conceived plan to tell her mother off. To make her mother cry and grovel for forgiveness. Force her to see how much she had been the cause of her father and her sister falling apart. Daria couldn't recall a time where she'd been wont to fly off the handle like she was now. Daria of a few months or weeks ago, would have calmly and reasonably approached her mother and maybe even been merciless to the point of wearing her down. A gamble to be taken seriously, maybe even get through to her far gone mother.

At this moment, all she wanted to do was unleash Hell and Earth on her mother, no matter how childish it seemed. It would have felt so good and she would have done it, too, but right now Quinn and her father needed her more.


	5. The Old And The Beautiful

Chapter 5: "The Old and The Beautiful":

When Daria woke up the next morning, she looked through the living room window to see that her Grandmother's car wasn't in the driveway yet. Then she saw what time it was, and remembered she'd made plans with Jodie to go to lunch. She'd made the plans weeks ago over email and had been surprised to find herself looking forward to it. She'd often considered Jane her only real friend, but if she'd been more outgoing, if she'd _wanted_ to be more outgoing, Jodie could have easily been among the ranks of "good friend" as opposed to "strong acquaintance."

Daria called Jodie, told her she couldn't make it. In a rare and genuine display, she'd used the words, "I'm sorry."

Jodie said she understood. They could reschedule. Daria knew Jodie meant it. Not that it would have mattered if Jodie didn't care or understand anyway. Daria had other priorities and Jodie was too busy and involved to be the type of person to sit by the phone waiting.

"I heard about your sister. Is she okay?" Jodie had asked before her and Daria got off the phone.

"That was quick," Daria said, acerbically.

"That's Lawndale for you," Jodie had said and Daria couldn't disagree.

She remembered the time in high school when Tom had inadvertently spent half the night and how fast rumors flew when people found out. She wasn't sorry to leave this kind of place behind for the anonymity of somewhere like Boston.

Daria decided Quinn didn't need to be privy to her's and Jodie's informational transaction. If Daria could spare her sister a little bit of pain, she'd do it.

Daria went upstairs and got dressed in the bathroom, trying to avoid excess noise that might wake up Jake, who was still passed out in Daria's room. Armed with her copy of _Ulysses_ , Daria headed back to the living room. She'd sit and wait for Ruth.

On the way downstairs, Daria heard Quinn shouting into the phone through her closed bedroom door. She caught "Stacy," "Sandi said," and "Everyone? Like everyone, _everyone_ knows?" Stacy didn't seem to possess the same level of discretion that Daria did.

So much for sparing her sister from more unnecessary pain.

Helen had long since left for work by the time Ruth was at the door. Quinn was still up in her room. Daria didn't see the need to force her to come down. She opened the door for her grandmother.

"Where's Jakey?" Ruth asked.

"He's asleep," Daria said.

"Well, that's unbecoming, but I suppose, knowing your mother, that's just the kind of thing she'd let him get away with these days. Like those awful curtains or-"

"Grandma," Daria began, cautiously.

"It's rude to interrupt, dear."

Daria sighed and sat back down on the couch. Ruth surveyed the living room, face pinched up at the dust gathering on the surfaces. Not to mention the vacuuming the floor was in desperate need of. Ruth's eyes shifted toward Daria, the coffee table still had the bottle of sleeping pills and a martini glass sitting in the center. Her eyes grew even wider at the discoloration on the carpet in front of the couch.

"That martini glass better not be yours. You're not nearly old enough to be drinking."

"Dad sure doesn't get his razor-sharp wit from you, does he Grandma?"

"Don't be rude, Daria. Now answer the question."

"This lovely stain on the floor is what happens when your son mixes this and this," Daria said, taking the pill bottle in one hand and martini glass in the other, holding them up for her grandmother's examination.

"This isn't funny," Ruth said. Daria hadn't forgotten her grandmother's penchant for denial. Afterall, her father learned his cluelessness from somewhere, hadn't he?

"But they always told me I would be great at stand-up comedy," Daria's tone was scathing.

"You're not kidding?" Ruth asked, her voice was weak and she sunk down onto the opposite couch, hand over her mouth. Her grandmother looked so small and frail to her, and Daria thought she must look ridiculous, holding the bottle and the glass up in the air as if presenting evidence to an invisible and disinterested jury. She felt that this was all way too dramatic. The drama and ludicrousness of it all made Daria feel stupid, but she brushed it off.

"No, why would I be kidding?" Daria set the items back on the table and sat down next to her grandmother.

"Oh," her grandmother's response came out as more of a gasp.

"He needs help. We need to get him help," was all Daria said. Ruth threw her arms around her granddaughter. Daria didn't push off the hug, but she wasn't comfortable with it, either.

* * *

It was the early afternoon and Daria was sitting in the living room mulling through _Ulysses_. Jake was still asleep, as far as she could tell.

Ruth had gone up to Jake and Helen's room to pack some bags with Jake's things. Daria had offered help, but Ruth had refused it. She knew what her son needed, what was essential. She'd claimed as much, anyway. Daria didn't pry and pretended to take her grandmother at face value. Ruth had only just become privy to all the goings-on. She'd sat silently on the couch, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief as Daria cataloged the months worth of fights between her mother and father. All of the things that had led them to the events of last night.

Ruth needed solitude to process all of what she'd learned. Ruth was such a stone cold, headstrong woman and Daria had never seen her nearly crumble like this before.

Ruth needed to prepare herself for what she was about to do, where she was about to leave her son. She thought of it as temporarily abandoning him, Daria thought of it as the greater good.

Ruth hadn't even known Jake had lost his job a few months back.

Daria hadn't known she was her father's rock. Hadn't known she was the only one, aside from Quinn, who seemed to know so much about him in a world that had abandoned him. A world he had let slip away.

Daria _was_ his rock. That was why she needed to get him help. No one else was doing it. Why hadn't _she_ done it sooner? Was she a horrible daughter, horrible person? Heartless like everyone else seemed to accuse her of being?

_It really makes you think_ , Daria deadpanned to herself.

Boot heels made dull thudding down the stairs. Quinn materialized and crossed the living room to sit on the couch by her sister.

"Everyone knows."

"I know."

"You know?!"

"Did you want me to tell you? You'd just feel worse."

"Stacy kept blabbing to me about all the people she heard it from. All the people who kept calling her and beeping her to ask questions about me."

"I'm sure she loved the attention," Daria said, closing her book.

Quinn opened her mouth to defend her best friend. Stacy was a good friend, a good person. She'd never spill Quinn's news to anyone. Yet, Quinn couldn't deny that Stacy was probably madly in love with all the attention, even while diverting everyone's questions and claims.

"You haven't talked to Joey yet, have you?" Daria asked, after her sister remained quiet.

"Not about getting rid of it."

"You should. The longer you wait, the harder it's going to be to tell him," Daria said. She felt a bit of a pang when she said that. She thought of Tom and how long it took her to tell him she didn't love him and didn't want to be with him. The time she broke his heart for a second time. She always felt guilty when she thought about Tom. She wanted to shove the feeling away, but was ready to brandish the experience as further argument for her case against Quinn.

"I know. I haven't told Stacy yet, either. I called about an appointment this morning, though."

"You know they aren't going to do it right then and there, right?"

"I know," Quinn said quietly.

"They're going to make you wait and think about it."

"That's fine. I already know I'm going through with it. I can't keep this baby."

Quinn knew she wanted to be a mother someday. Knew she wanted to have lots of children, at least three. But she knew she couldn't start building a family right now. Didn't want to start building a family right now. Joey was a good man. He was always there for her. He'd been vying for her for years. Carrying his torch up a hill and waiting for Quinn to make the flame grow brighter, but all Quinn had given him was a spark and she knew it, too. Joey had just pretended that it was a roaring flame.

She wasn't sure Joey was the guy she wanted a future with, but she wasn't sure he wasn't or couldn't be that person, either. And in a weird way, she knew that answered her own question.

"Daria, when you broke up with Tom before college, how did you know he wasn't the one."

"Lots of reasons," Daria said dryly.

"But you respected Tom. You knew he was a good guy."

"He is," Daria said. "I respect him a lot, always will. I've been with him twice now, though, and it made me realize: just because you're good together, doesn't mean you're right for each other."

"Twice?" Quinn's eyes widened.

"We'll talk about that later," Daria said. "If you don't want to be with Joey, you need to tell him. If he's as great as you say he is, he'll get it." Daria hoped she'd successfully shifted the subject back to Quinn and her problems.

"Yeah," Quinn sighed, still not sure that she liked the situation that was unfolding before her.

More footfalls were heard coming down the stairs. Ruth entered the living room with bags in her hand. She set Jake's packed things next to the front door.

"What do you girls eat around here?" Ruth asked, trying to sound cheerful. Trying to sound put together.

"Frozen lasagna," Daria and Quinn said in unison.

"Nonsense, I'm going to make you girls a real meal."

* * *

Ruth, Daria, and Quinn sat in the dining room during the late lunch. It was the first time either of the sisters had had a meal in the dining room since before Daria had left for college. It was the first time in months Quinn had sat at a table in the house with other people around her. All of them were quiet. The awkward silence casting a film of tension over them.

When Ruth had finished her plate, she cleared her throat and looked up at her granddaughters. "Quinn, you're eighteen. You have your whole life ahead of you. If you're not ready to take care of a child, you shouldn't force yourself into it. It's no life for you or a baby. Especially if you're not planning on marrying the father." Ruth said all of this without malice or judgement.

What was more surprising? The fact that their grandmother had heard their whole conversation and waited hours to let on? The fact that she said what she said with such neutral acceptance? The fact that she was supportive of Quinn's choice, if only for old fashioned ideals?

"You knew?! You heard us?!" Quinn spouted.

"It wasn't the appropriate time to bring it up. There's a lot going on today. I was thinking about a lot of things, and seeing you two here, so lonely: I made up my mind."

"Made up your mind?" Quinn asked.

"I'm taking your father to a facility tonight. I called while I was packing for him. They have a room ready. I'm staying at Le Grand Hotel until I know your father is in good hands. And until you get everything taken care of, Quinn. I'm going with you to your appointments, to see if you have a good enough doctor. When everything's settled, you're staying with me for the summer."

Quinn put her hand to her mouth. She felt tears prick her eyes. She rushed across the table and threw her arms around Ruth. Ruth embraced Quinn back.

Daria watched the scene unfold before her. She felt like she was watching some cheesy scene out of a holiday movie. _A Real Christmas Miracle in May!_ , Daria thought, but kept it to herself.

"Daria, I'd like for you to stay the summer, too," Ruth said, looking over at her older granddaughter while still embracing the younger one.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

Ruth let Jake sleep for a few more hours after her meal with the girls. When she woke Jake up, she ordered him around. He needed to get a shower, he needed to dress in something comfortable. He was going to eat a plate of food she'd kept warm for him. He was lucky she did as much, she'd told him. "Who does the grocery shopping in this house? Helen lets these cabinets go barren. All frozen dinners and TV dinners," Ruth complained.

Jake was more than alarmed to see his mother. He wanted to know why she was here. Why he woke up in his daughter's room and not in his strategic spot on the couch. Why everyone had let him sleep so late. He didn't seem to remember any of the previous night's events. The vomiting, the horribly misguided attempt to get a good night sleep, or Daria's yelling.

Ruth told Jake he was coming with her to run some errands. Daria had loaded Jake's bags into Ruth's car while he had been eating dinner. She noticed Ruth's own small suitcase in the trunk too.

Jake didn't see the packed bags. Jake also didn't ask for details about what kind of errands he was accompanying his mother on. Jake didn't know he wouldn't be coming back from his "errands" for a few months.

Quinn almost broke the news to her father. Daria had to stop her sister twice and drag her out of the room before she could use the word "rehab."

Quinn called it "gaslighting," Daria called it "a necessary evil."

When Ruth pulled out of the driveway with Jake in the passenger seat, Quinn was on the phone with Stacy before her grandmother's car even disappeared from view. Quinn asked if she could come over for the night, she didn't want to be in the house that night knowing her father wasn't home, wasn't coming back home. Quinn packed a bag and was on her way to Stacy's.

Joey called for Quinn a few minutes after she'd left. When Daria picked up the phone, she told Joey she hadn't seen her sister and didn't know when Quinn would be home. It was the least Daria could do to buy Quinn the time she felt her sister deserved.

When Daria hung up the phone, she locked the front door and walked over to Jane's.


	6. Write Where It Hurts

Chapter 6: "Write Where It Hurts":

When Daria got to the Lane's, she knocked hard on the door. A few seconds later, Trent was in front of her holding the door open.

"Daria?"

"I was, last time I checked," Daria replied sardonically.

Trent chuckled, but the chuckle quickly became a cough. Daria pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. A tense silence settled between them.

"Are you here for me or Janey?" he coughed, interrupting the quiet.

"Jane." _Bold of you to assume I'm here for you._

Daria thought back to what Jane had said the day before. " _Does Trent know it's a one time thing?"_ Jane had teased. Daria immediately brushed it off. _No, fucking way Trent thinks that was more than a one time thing. Not even he's that dense._

"Janey went out to get paint. She'll be back in a little bit."

"Okay, mind if I wait?"

Trent stepped out of the threshold, making room for Daria to come in. She walked into the house and Trent closed the door behind her then walked toward the kitchen.

"You want coffee?" he asked.

"Sure," Daria said.

She sat at the Lane's kitchen table. Trent went to the counter and poured the contents of the coffee pot into two mugs. He put the mugs in the microwave. Daria was about to provide biting rhetoric on how the coffee in the pot might possibly be days old, knowing Trent. She thought better of it.

When Trent took the heated mugs out of the microwave, he grabbed a bottle of rum from one of the cabinets and poured a shot's worth into one of the mugs. He turned and looked at Daria, raising the bottle slightly. She nodded. Trent poured a shot of rum into the other mug.

He brought the mugs and the bottle of rum to the kitchen table and set them down. Daria took her mug and waited for the boiling coffee to cool.

Daria and Trent didn't say anything to each other. It suited them fine.

The front door opened and closed. A few seconds later, Jane was in the kitchen, her hand over the light switch. "I thought you left the light on. I didn't think you'd actually be awake," she smirked at her older brother. "And Daria!-"

"Can it. This isn't whatever you think it looks like," Daria cut her best friend off before she could say anything about her and Trent having been alone together. Jane looked at her brother. Trent just shrugged.

"I heard about Miss Teen Beauty Queen," Jane said, setting her canvas bag of paint tubes on the counter top and joining her brother and friend at the table.

"Everybody did," Daria said.

"I feel bad for the kid," Jane said, she wrapped her fingers around the neck of the rum bottle and used the other hand to unscrew the cap.

"You don't know the half of it," Daria said, talking into her mug.

"Is she keeping it?" Jane took a swig from the bottle.

"No. And she's not keeping the boyfriend either," Daria revealed.

"That's rough," Jane said.

Trent took the bottle from his sister and poured another half shot of rum into his coffee.

"My grandmother came and carted my Dad off to rehab," Daria said

"When?" Jane asked.

"About forty-five minutes ago," Daria said.

"Shit, Daria," Trent said, smacking his lips after taking a long drink of his laced coffee.

"When did your grandmother come into town?" Jane asked.

"This morning. I called her last night," Daria said.

"Why?" Jane asked.

Daria relayed the tale of the previous night. Finding her father throwing up on the living room floor vomiting profusely, the sleeping pills, the way things looked and how he denied it, how she didn't call for an ambulance and was still beating herself up over her hesitation about it.

"That...sucks," Trent coughed.

"Yeah," Jane agreed, punctuating the word with another swing of rum.

"My mom just knows that our grandmother's in town," Daria revealed. She was nearing the bottom of her cup and she could feel herself getting a little more comfortable with talking about the sheer shittiness of the situation. Daria blamed her forthrightness on the alcohol.

"She has no idea your father's in rehab?" Jane asked.

"No," Daria said.

"Daria, you sneaky bastard," Jane said.

"It would probably take her days to notice he's gone, anyway," Daria finished off her drink.

"You know, if that's the coffee I think it is, it's been sitting in the pot for two days," Jane said.

"Really? I couldn't tell," Daria deadpanned.

Trent looked at his sister and shrugged. He took another sip of his old coffee.

"So, do you wanna stay here tonight? Penny's room is free. Or Trent's?" Jane smirked. Trent didn't bat an eye at his sister's comment. He briefly glanced over at Daria, his eyebrow arched, like he was asking her to consider the offer. It was a quick interaction, if Daria had blinked, she might have missed it.

"As tempting as that offer is, someone needs to fill in my mother." Daria said.

_Not that she deserves to know anything._

Daria stayed at Jane's until they ran out of things to talk about. Jane didn't try to hug her when she left, Daria was grateful for that. Between her grandmother and sister, her quota had been filled. Daria was glad Jane wasn't the hugging type.

* * *

It was almost midnight when Helen came in through the front door. Daria had been at the end of her book and she could feel her eyes closing. She snapped awake when she heard the door close.

Daria had been too focused on getting to this moment to feel anything but righteous indignation. Now that Helen was in the same room as her, she felt her heart beating in her throat. Daria stood up and wiped her clammy hands on her jeans. She crossed the living room and stood in front of the staircase, arms crossed over her chest. Helen turned around from locking the door and almost walked into Daria.

She looked down, staring at her daughter, "Are you trying to frustrate me, dear?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Daria said.

"Daria, I've had a long night. We're not going to play games right now."

"I'm sure you had a long night, Mom. Eric did, too, I'm guessing."

Helen's tired gaze grew more narrow, until she was glaring at her daughter, "You're not funny, dear."

"I'm not trying to be."

"We'll talk about this in the morning."

"No, we'll talk about it now," Daria said firmly.

Helen ignored her daughter and moved to walk past her. Daria stepped to the side, blocking her mother's escape route.

"Notice something missing?"

Helen stopped trying to squeeze past her daughter, "Where is your sister?"

"She's at Stacy's, but do you notice something else?"

"Daria -"

"It's Dad. He's not here. Grandma carted him off to rehab. Got him help, because you wouldn't."

"He was always holding onto the umbilical cord too tightly," Helen's response was tepid.

"He took _your_ sleeping pills," Daria matched her mother's dispassionate tone.

"Quinn was always one for dramatics, but you, Daria?"

Daria started off with a level tone, but her voice got louder with every word. She was losing her cool, losing herself. Her hands were shaking. She wanted her mother's attention. She was demanding her mother's attention. She would make Helen see what she'd done, make it so she couldn't ignore them anymore, "He's sick. He's been sick for a long time! You couldn't even be bothered to look him in the face! And Quinn, have you even been paying attentio-?"

"Enough!" Helen roared, cutting her daughter off.

Daria looked at her mother with a wide-eyed stare. She felt shock take over. She felt a jolt of fear, then numbness. The front door slammed. The car started in the driveway.

Daria sunk down onto the bottom step, hands still shaking, but she was too riled up to notice. Her mother had just walked out in the middle of a fight. Walked away. Abandoned her. She'd run away to maintain her denial. Turned around like a child trying to outrun her problems.

This wasn't the Helen who had dismissed work in favor of her confused daughter when her daughter accidentally kissed her best friend's boyfriend. This wasn't the Helen who'd take every possible opportunity to get the spice back into her marriage when her daughters were out of the house. This wasn't the Helen that had been a little bit of a workaholic, but was still home almost every night to put the frozen lasagna in the oven for dinner and ask her girls how school had been that day.

Helen had left her daughters. Left her husband. And she'd done it long before she'd walked out the door tonight.

When her mother laid down next to Eric that night, Daria hoped that Helen's guilty conscience kept her awake.

* * *

Quinn called Daria the next morning and told her she was meeting Joey for breakfast at a diner. Quinn told her sister she was going to tell Joey everything. That she wasn't keeping the baby. That she didn't want to be with him. That she was leaving with her grandmother in a few weeks, after they prescribed the pills for her and the pregnancy was terminated. After her father was settled in and she knew he was going to be okay.

She said she'd already said her good-byes to Stacy's family. She'd say good-bye to Stacy for real, when she left Lawndale. Until then, she was going to stay at the hotel with Ruth. She didn't want to be in the house if she didn't have to be. It would make leaving even harder. It would make moving onto the next step even harder. She wanted a clean slate before starting college in the fall, and she just couldn't get that in Lawndale.

"You know exactly how I feel," Daria told her sister.

Daria told Quinn about how Helen had run off last night in the middle of the confrontation. How she'd taken nothing with her. Just walked out the front door and left. How Daria wasn't sure when she'd see Helen again. If it was going to be tonight or days from now.

"I can't say I'm surprised or anything," Quinn said.

Quinn told Daria her first appointment was in a few days. Daria asked if Quinn wanted her to come. She could be there, she said. Just like that time Quinn had Daria ditch school with her to go to Doctor Shar's. Only this time it was an actual crisis and this time Daria actually wanted to be there.

Quinn told Daria that she loved her, but it might be easier for her if Daria wasn't there. Daria said she understood and, in that case, she had her own plans to make. She was going to call Aunt Amy.

Daria loved her sister, but she didn't envy her.

* * *

The next day, Daria met Jane at Pizza King for a late lunch.

"She didn't come home last night, either. That's two nights in a row," Daria said.

"Helen's a free woman," Jane said, her tone was ironic and layered with contempt.

"I've been home for all of six days and I already want to leave."

"Lawndale will do that to you."

"I was thinking of going back to Boston early, but I've already made arrangements"

"What are you going to do? Stay with young Thomas?"

"The sad thing is, if I just showed up on his doorstep, he'd probably let me stay."

"You could've done worse than Young Thomas. You could have ended up with Trent," Jane tittered.

"Have I mentioned that I hate you?" Daria rolled her eyes at Jane.

"I have heard that rumor, before," Jane smirked.

They were quiet for a little while.

"So, what are these arrangements?" Jane asked her best friend.

"I'm going to stay with my aunt, Amy. I'm flying out in two days."

"That's soon," Jane said.

"Astute observation."

"I'd say I'm going to miss you, but…" Jane playfully trailed off.

"I don't want to be in that house anymore. My mom's going to come eventually and I don't want to be there when she does. She's going to have to face facts on her own that she's half of the reason this family's been torn apart."

Daria hated to admit it, but Quinn might have been onto something. There was something about the Morgendorffer house. It felt off. It felt sad and depressing and empty. It nagged at Daria more and more every night. It was even more noticeable now that she was staying there alone.

* * *

Daria's bags were already packed and at the base of the stairs. Jane was going to take her to the airport in the morning.

She had _Sick, Sad World_ playing on the TV in the living room, but she wasn't paying attention to it. She'd tried reading, but she had trouble focusing on that, too.

She was leaving in the morning and all she could think of was how empty and silent the house was. It should have been peaceful, but it felt hostile. Like a shell that encapsulated all the anguish the Morgendorffer family had suffered this past year. Daria kept finding herself staring at the discolored carpet in front of her seat on the couch. She kept thinking of Jake and how he was doing. If Jake called, she'd miss it. She'd unplugged all the landlines the night before when Joey kept calling the house asking for Quinn. Joey wouldn't stop calling and crying. He hadn't been sober.

Daria had also packed her cell phone away in her suitcase. She didn't want to be bothered and she didn't feel like she needed it right now, anyway. She wouldn't admit to herself the real reason she'd packed it away was because she didn't want Helen to call her. That she'd also partially unplugged the landlines because of Helen and not just to dodge desperate calls from Quinn's ex.

She didn't want to hear Helen's apology, if she even had one. She didn't want to be fooled by it. Daria knew if her mother apologized, she'd cancel her plans. She'd stay in Lawndale for the rest of the summer and try to patch things up with Helen. She also knew Helen wouldn't get her act together that quickly and she'd be sucked up into the same vicious cycle all over again. She couldn't watch Helen do that to herself. Daria couldn't do that to herself, either.

Daria kept thinking of Helen, too. How she could have handled it better, but how her mother deserved so much worse said to her than the words Daria had thrown at her. How tonight had made night number three and she hadn't seen her mother. Nobody had shown up looking for her and Daria was almost certain she was with Eric, but she couldn't put to rest the nagging feeling that made her worry about her mother. So she tucked the thought into the back of her head, like so many other things.

She kept thinking about Quinn and how horrible this past year had been for her, but how strong she'd proved to be. Daria never thought of Quinn as someone who she'd admire, and she'd deny it if anyone ever asked her, but she did admire her sister and her strength.

Daria felt tears threaten to prick up. It was this damn house. She couldn't stay here.

Daria went into the kitchen and plugged in the cordless phone. She dialed a number. The other line picked up after an eternity of ringing.

"I can't stay in this stupid house tonight. Can I come over?"

"Sure."

"I'm on my way."

Daria hung up. She unplugged the landline again. Not because she needed to, but she felt like it made sense. It was symbolic, she reasoned.

Daria turned off the TV and the lights in the living room. She dragged her bags through the threshold and locked the door behind her.

She walked away from the house with her suitcases in tow and walked until she made it to the front door of another familiar house. She knocked. The door opened and she set her suitcases inside the doorway.

"I guess I wanted to say good-bye," she said, brushing her thick bangs off her forehead.

"So you really are here to see me this time and not Janey?" Trent asked.

"I'm here to see you," Daria said, her voice resolute and even.

Trent grabbed Daria's hand, leaving the suitcases by the door. She followed him up to his room. He began to kiss her before he even had his door all the way shut.

The Morgendorffer Household had seen a lot of grief, it deserved to stay dark and empty for now. Somehow a room stewn with clothes and vinyl records seemed more comforting, seemed more like home, even if it was just for tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: As always, I am open to reviews, critiques, and constructive criticism. I wrote this and edited it in about a week. It came together better than I thought it would, but it still doesn't feel super amazing or solid. I also had no intention of their being as much "romantic" interaction between Daria and Trent as there was, but as I was writing this story, the Daria/Trent moments seemed to write themselves. Despite all of that, I think it ended up tying the story up rather nicely and came full circle.
> 
> I wrote this story to take place post-canon while still keeping up with the canon of the Daria TV series, IIFY, and IICY. While I am somewhat aware of the "20 Years Later" timeline in regards to Daria in a piece done by Entertainment Weekly, I didn't strictly adhere to it here. I tried to write it so most of the things from "20 Year Later" would still make sense after the timeline of this story, especially in regards to Quinn. (With Helen and Jake, not so much.)
> 
> Regardless I hope you enjoy this grim and gloomy Daria story.


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